


Safe and sound

by dancey94



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Kissing, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancey94/pseuds/dancey94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I feel detached. This nightmare of a game has ended and we ended up together. Somehow I expected Chiyoh to save us but till the very last second I believed we’d die. We didn’t.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abigail_frank](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail_frank/gifts).



> Happy Birthday!!! <3  
> Y'all go and wish [ abigail_frank](http://tardis-frostiron-hannigram.tumblr.com) all the best as she's coming of age ^^  
> mam nadzieję, że moja kartka nadejdzie wreszcie do Ciebie :3

" _Just close your eyes_  
 _The sun is going down_  
 _You'll be alright_  
 _No one can hurt you now_  
 _Come morning light_  
 _You and I'll be safe and sound_ "

 

I feel detached. This nightmare of a game has ended and we ended up together. Somehow I expected Chiyoh to save us but till the very last second I believed we’d die. We didn’t.

We landed here, in a typical hide-out. In the middle of a forest, surrounded by trees, clouds and our own emotions. I don’t know how long we were unconscious or how long we’ve been here. This is the second day I’m lying in bed, alone, in a small room. Chiyoh changed the bandages on my cheek and my arm, I could feel it. I was too weak though to grab her arm and ask all the questions that formed in my head. In the end, I believe those questions will be answered or I will be at peace with them forever being a mystery.

Today I feel a little better, slightly stronger, enough to sit up and look around the room. It’s a wooden hut, slightly similar to the one Molly and I used to live in.

Molly. I didn’t even get to say any goodbye to her and Wally. It’d be better if she thought I was dead. I hope they find Dolarhyde and figure out what happened. They won’t find our bodies but it’s so easy for the ocean to carry heavier things and move them around. They will assume we’re dead. Just as I assumed we’d be when I formed this plan in my mind. Or was there even a plan?

I hear Chiyoh speak quietly. Are there still some secrets between us?

I get up, I rise from the bed and approach the door. I’m wearing only some pants, like a part of a tracksuit, and my chest is covered only in bandage. I’m slightly cold. More than slightly cold. It’s probably the reminiscent of a mild hypothermia. God only knows how long we were in the water. I remember watching _Titanic_. The people were almost purple from cold and that woman couldn’t blow the whistle because she was so exhausted and freezing. She couldn’t breathe out, how absurd.

It’s daytime, the weak sunlight comes through the windows and it almost burns my skin. I open the door, wider, and see Hannibal lying on the couch. Chiyoh is kneeling in front on him, saying something in a different language. Her hands are busy dressing Hannibal’s wounds and she’s not facing me. She doesn’t see me yet. Neither does Hannibal – his eyes are shut, heavy under the weight of recent events.

“You should be resting.” I hear Chiyoh’s reasonable tone and the slow tempo in which she utters the words.

Hannibal murmurs something weakly and it makes me wonder if he’s going to make it. The gunshot wound and the fall must have had a great impact on him and it’s a miracle he’s still alive. I can still look at him: at his rising with every breath chest and slowly opening eyelids. He’s forcing himself to smile at me but we both know it’s pointless. The game is over and there’s no use in continue pretending. He’s happy to see me, I’m happy to see him. That’s all.

“I’m better than he is. Why is he lying on the couch?” I ask as I kneel beside Chiyoh, never leaving Hannibal’s gaze.

She only exchanges glances with Hannibal and when she’s done with the dressing, she stands up. I can only hear her disappear from the room and I know we’re left alone again.

Hannibal looks at me and it’s overwhelming. It always has been. His eyes never ceased to bore through me and even after I’d married Molly, I had those dreams about our sessions. I guess I missed that, I craved the connection we’d had. Now I have it again, who knows for how long. We are far away from everything and everyone and there is no one to hear our conversations. There is no one to hear my thoughts but him.

“I feel like we constantly cross each other.” I say and lean against the couch. My hand goes, almost involuntarily, to touch his arm and then lie along his weak body.

“I never wanted to cross you. I only wanted us to be one. I wanted you to see me and accept me.”

“And I did.” I turn my head not to look at him, I’m afraid all we do is hurt each other. I don’t want that.

“You did more than that. You did more than I ever imagined you would.”

“Why are you lying here? Why are you not in bed?” I change the topic.

“Chiyoh has only one bed.”

I partly expected that answer. One bed and he told her to put me in it. He asked her to move, maybe sleep on the floor or… I don’t know but he gave it up for me. Again. He stood on the Dragon’s bullet’s itinerary just to prove his point. He loves me. He always has.

I turn my head to look at him again. I see the white spot where the bandages cover his wound. Was it supposed to be my wound? Another in my vast collection. I rub my forehead and I know Hannibal can read me. He looks at the horizontal line on my forehead and blinks. He never really commented on that. Never saw the scar on my belly. Does he want to?

I stand up. The bandage on my chest covers mostly the upper part so the scar is clearly visible. I look at Hannibal and I sigh. Should I call for Chiyoh? We should put him to bed. He needs it more than I do.

He lifts his heavy eyelids to see the scar on my belly. I can almost feel his lust in my veins, his desire to extend his hand and touch, but he’s too weak. Maybe another time.

“We survived. I’m not letting you leave me now.” I say and I go to look for Chiyoh. We will move Hannibal to the bed. He’ll be more comfortable there.

I enter a small kitchen, where she’s sitting and peeling potatoes. A soup is boiling in a pot and I frown as I realise I didn’t smell it until now. Maybe it’s my hunger talking but I know the soup is going to be delicious.

I ask Chiyoh to help me move Hannibal and she grimaces. She must have promised him to give up the bed for me and now I ask her to break her promise. I don’t care. I need him alive, I need him well.

We lift him, support his arms around our shoulders and we put him to bed. He must be exhausted. The adrenaline that made him fight the Dragon to the very end has left his body and he needs rest. He needs to recover.

Chiyoh goes back to the kitchen and I want to go with her, I want to help her, too, that’s the least I can do – peel the potatoes, but Hannibal groans and grabs my hand. I stay. I sit on the bed, next to him, and stroke his hair. It’s so strange – seeing Hannibal Lecter, a cold-blooded murderer, lying next to you and surrendering to you. I remember Bedelia’s words about the vulnerable birds. Hannibal is a vulnerable bird and I have a chance to crush him. I can so easily put my hands around his neck and simply squeeze. Would Chiyoh stop me? I don’t know. I will never know.

“When I close my eyes, I want to dream about you.” Hannibal says and I want to laugh. He’s been seeing my almost every day for the last few weeks, yet he still hasn’t had enough. How is it possible? I smile warmly and caress his cheek. I’m going to sit here until he falls asleep and I will hear his steady breathing. I want to feel his heartbeat to know he’s alive. We both are.

He has his eyes closed but he’s still awake, I know. He’s enjoying my caresses and, just as me, he wants to be certain this is real.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” I assure. My voice is soft, one could say weak. He smiles and hums.

After a few minutes he’s asleep. I can hear his steady breathing and see his chest rise and fall with every breath. I never saw him sleep. He did. He saw me sleep many times, he even brought me home once or maybe… Maybe I don’t even remember how many times. He changed my clothes a few times, when I was unconscious. After all he’s done, all the wrong things that should never leave my mind and never let me forgive him, I can see a man who took care of me every time I needed it.

I lean slightly but then hesitate and retreat. I stroke his hair one last time and stand up. I’ll help Chiyoh. I need a distraction and I want to be useful. I go to the kitchen and sit by her. I take a knife from the table and a potato. She stops me. She takes my hand and looks at me.

“This is enough.” She says and I see the pot filled with potatoes. She’s right – it’s enough. So what do I do now?

“Have you been living here the whole time? Since…” I don’t know. I don’t remember when was the last time I actually saw her.

“Yes. I’ve been traveling for a while but then I found this place and it reminded me of home.”

“Which one?” I ask. She’s finally free, or rather she was. Hannibal went to jail and for three years she could have created a life for her own. Or could she? I look at her and I see myself. She’s bound to Hannibal, she doesn’t have a life beside the one he offered her.

She smiles. It’s the kind of smile that I know all too well – desperate and hopeless; there’s nothing more to be done. No one to blame really. It’s a bitter acceptance of what happens.

I look around, search for a bottle of something, anything that would resemble alcohol. There are a few bottles in the cabinet so I stand up and rise my arm to reach it. It hurts. The burn of the stretch reminds me of the moment when the blade went right through me. Like the Dragon’s wing cutting me, punishing and still wanting me to see His glory.

I take the bottle and Chiyoh offers me a glass. She has another one for herself. I pour us a drink and take a sip.

“You’re not going to let us stay here, are you?” I ask. My voice is hoarse and only now do I feel thirsty. The whiskey or whatever the hell it is is not helping. It burns my throat and only worsen the craving. I need water.

~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes are heavy and my head hurts and spins. I force myself to focus and I realise I’m lying on the couch. Did I pass out? Was it the alcohol or the general exhaustion?

I look around. It’s already dark. The only light comes from a few candles around the room. Does Chiyoh have no electricity?

I sit up and notice her sleeping in a chair. She’s covered in a blanket but she must still be cold. She didn’t start the fire, or it burned out already. I stand up and approach it. There’s wood and everything I need to make us warm. Shit. Maybe if I put some clothes on I’d be warmer. I start the fire and the cracking of the wood makes Chiyoh open her eyes and snap at me.

“Take the couch. I’ll eat something and check on Hannibal.” I say.

She moves to lie on the couch and I leave the room. Hannibal is still asleep. It’s so unusual seeing him being so vulnerable and… gentle. People see a monster in him when deep down there is still something human about him. I shake my head, I need to get it together.

There’s a black worn out sweater on the chair. I put it on and go to the kitchen. I boil the soup and smile. It reminds me of the time Hannibal brought me soup to the hospital when they treated me after my fevers. I was so blind then. Maybe I still am.

I pour two bowls of the soup and take them to the other room, where Hannibal is slowly coming to his senses. I help him sit up and I sit next to him. Should I spoon-feed him?

“Can you hold it?” I ask and offer him the bowl. He smiles and takes it from my hands. We enjoy the soup in silence but I can hear his heart working hard to supply him with enough oxygen. It’s like he was still drowning. Whatever even happened that night? Did he die and Chiyoh brought him back?

I finish the soup and look at Hannibal. His lips glisten from the liquid, no longer dry from the exhaustion and the salt. I feel a familiar sting in my heart, the one I felt right before we dove into the water. His lips covered in blood and I wanted to kiss him. I wanted a taste of his lust and the release that was in his eyes. We were free. Well, we weren’t. We are now. More or less.

A thud interrupts my thoughts and I see Hannibal put down the empty bowl.

“Thank you.” He says. His voice sounds normal, like he didn’t merely survived.  

“Chiyoh made the soup.” I explain and take his bowl. I go to the kitchen to wash the dishes. I need a distraction.

I hear footsteps over the running water but I assume it’s Chiyoh. Until, of course, I smell a faint scent of salt and sweat and… There’s always been something about Hannibal’s scent that made me relax. Maybe it was an indicator that he was near me and I…

His hands fall on my shoulders and I feel his body emit a comforting warmth straight on my back. He gets closer. I know he’s hesitating but he needs it as much as I do. I reach for one of his hands and squeeze it. We’re not facing each other. He presses along my body and that’s enough.

The water is still running so I turn it off and wait. Somewhere, in the back of my head I know he’s pressing his wounded chest to me and I smile faintly. It’s like I was a bandage for his wound.

“You need rest.” I say but, apparently, not confidently enough because he doesn’t move away. Instead, I feel him place his cheek against my hair and… Is he smelling me? I sigh and close my eyes. I never imagined we’d be so intimate again.

“Chiyoh won’t harbour us here. We’ll need to move. I need you rested and focused.” I repeat and hope he’ll return to bed. He obeys. His body heat leaves me and the footsteps fade as he disappears from the kitchen.

I look for the bottle we earlier drank from but it’s not there anymore. Shit. I crave a shot or two, something to ease the pain. I feel my cheek sting and it’s like someone pulled out all my teeth. Maybe it was the hot soup.

On my way to the bed I glance at Chiyoh, soundly asleep on the couch. She’s used to be on guard, she’s a hunter. She’s probably not a heavy sleeper as she may look like.

I enter the room where Hannibal is lying on the bed and again I sit next to him. He moves to make more space for me. I guess he can see how tired I am. I lie beside him.

I’m facing the ceiling but I’m aware he’s looking at me. Is he proud? I can almost feel his desire to touch my cheek and stroke my every scar. He’s proud of himself, for giving me so many of them. Actually, he’s the cause of them all, be it direct or indirect.

I’m no longer scared of him. I turn to meet his gaze and he swallows. Has he ever imagined us like this? Vulnerable, depending on each other and fuelling each other.

I reach for his side, I gently stroke the place where he was shot. That bullet was for me, wasn’t it?

I feel a warm palm on my cut cheek and the sting transmogrifies into another burning sensation. It eases the pain and replaces it with desire. I look at Hannibal’s lips and lick my own. I can’t help it. A shiver runs through me and my hands tremble.

He’s not making any move, he’s waiting. An offer is here, between us, hanging like a forbidden fruit, easy to reach but you have to want it. I appreciate the invitation and not coercion. I lean closer, our breaths mix and I start wondering if it’s a good idea. I wanted that. I craved that when we stood on that cliff but it didn’t seem right. I didn’t believe I’d have another chance at it.

Could it complicate the things between us even more?

Neither of us close our eyes as the connection is made. I can feel the full lips press against mine and I blink. We both taste of the soup and salt but Hannibal can easily infer I was drinking. Even I can still smell the alcohol when I breathe out.

We’re disgusting. We’re sweaty and wounded, I’m slightly hungover. Hannibal has a stubble and in a few days I’ll have a full grown beard. But I don’t care and I don’t believe he does, either.

I open my mouth slightly and feel his teeth as he smiles against me. Here we are. Is that what we wanted? Is that what we fought for from the beginning? If only we’d done that earlier, we could have avoided so many disappointments and hurting.

I feel Hannibal’s tongue gently asking if he can explore me further and I acquiesce. I want him further, deeper, inside me. I want to merge with him. We’re already conjoined. And no, there is no separation between us, only a break. We couldn’t even die together. I bet neither of us could die and leave the other behind.

I hear a noise and feel a vibration going from Hannibal’s throat to mine. He groans. I move my hand away from his body, maybe I was pressing too hard.

Hannibal shifts and grabs my head. He strokes my hair exactly like he did when he gutted me. I expect everything right now. Does he have a knife hidden somewhere?

He holds me close and continues kissing me. It’s easy to see the hunger finally being sated and it’s like a flood. He can’t quite control himself, he’s all over me. His lips brush my skin on my cheek and neck and I feel the lust taking over him.

I pull back and place my palms on his chest to stop him. We are neither strong enough nor alone in the house to undertake any further romantic advances. He nods and lies down beside me. His arm stretches over my belly and I cover it with my hand. I lean and kiss his head. His hair is straight and salty and I smile. I haven’t seen myself in the mirror yet, but I must look even worse. I’m afraid to touch my own hair. It must be disgusting, it must be sticky and pointing in all directions. I don’t care. Hannibal doesn’t, either.

I close my eyes and we both listen to each other’s heartbeats, like to a lullaby. The steadying rhythm carries us back to the place where bad dreams are not real.


End file.
